James Thomson (1)

Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
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Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames;
Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

Of evening tinct,
The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine.

He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.

He saw her charming, but he saw not half
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Linnets . . . sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock.

Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty and virtue,
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
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Whoe'er amidst the sons
Of reason, valor, liberty and virtue,
Displays distinguished merit, is a noble
Of Nature's own creating.